Date: Sun, 06 Sep 1998 09:15:15 -0500
From: tremaine@mindspring.com
Subject: Happenstance Story: Greek Lessons (M/M, military)
GREEK LESSONS
By Happenstance
WARNING: If you are offended by verbal descriptions
of gay male sex; this story is not for you. Stop
reading now. If under the laws of your locality this
type of activity is proscribed, stop reading now. If
you are under the age of 18 (or whatever is the age of
consent in your jurisdiction), stop reading now.
Anyone not falling into one of the above categories,
enjoy. Technically, this story is a fantasy and any
resemblance to any one living or dead is purely
coincidental. Any resemblance to actual experiences
in my own life is my business.
Copyright c 1998 by Happenstance. All rights
reserved. You may download this story to keep on your
computer, or print a hard copy if you preserve the
title, warning and copyright notice.
It is however my story and I do not waive any
copyrights. Any legal violations brought about by
ignoring the Warning notice become your
responsibility.
GREEK LESSONS
by Happenstance
I really wanted to learn to speak Greek. I took
a couple of classes while I was assigned to Athens but
the only real way to learn the language was to get off
the Air Base and go practice with actual Greeks.
There was some encouragement to do that in the Greek
honor guards, the Evzones, at Syntagma (Constitution)
Square. They were the hunky cream of the Greek army.
And the uniform they wore, those white pleated kilts,
and white tights, left little to the imagination.
While Greece has a proud history, the traditional
national dress was established back when the Turks
were in power and looks kind of silly to modern
American sensibilities. But it sure did show off the
powerful legs and thighs of those boys, many of who
were obviously weight lifters.
Now, contrary to stereotypes, Modern Greek
culture is not very homo friendly. The locals will
tolerate a lot from tourists, because of money and
because they are nice people. However, within their
own culture they take a more Mediterranean outlook -
think America in the fifties. Though many men go to
gay bars or aggressively engage in anonymous gay sex
at the numerous cruising spots in the city, the only
people who really identify as gay are those that can't
pass as straight. Most "masculine" gays marry, have
kids, screw around with guys on the side and don't
think of themselves as gay at all. There is even a
very active bath scene and male prostitution, with
many of the underpaid young Greek soldiers acting as
trade for a few thousand Drachma. To further
complicate the gender issue there has always been a
substantial transvestite prostitute population, which
also caters exclusively to "straight" men.
I learned two words on the street that weren't covered
in my class, poustee, "Pussy", and malakka or "Anal
sex receiver". Greek men use these words the way some
American inner-city black men use the words "nigger"
and "mother fucker" when talking to their close
friends. And also like America, the quickest way to
start a fight is for someone who isn't from the
neighborhood to use them. Still, it shows the Greek
ambivalence toward gays and the passive partner in
anal sex. Anal sex is very big in Greek culture, the
word Greek as used in the sex ads wasn't picked at
random. But while the top isn't looked down on, he's
just a straight guy scratching an itch, the bottom is
the object of jokes and ridicule, a sissy, poustee, or
malakka.
When I first expressed my interest in getting
some action from one of the Evzones, my friend Rwanda
told me I was nuts. "Those boys are all strictly
trade. Hap, I know you and though you are "flexible"
those boys would drive you nuts. It's not like
they're hard to get. All of them fuck around, but
they're all tops. And for you, that would get real
boring, real fast."
She had a point. Rwanda would know about Greek
soldiers if anyone would. She was a Black model from
America who was a major superstar sensation in Greece.
She was also a man. Her real name was Ronny. I'd met
her at a club one night with a huge Greek sailor on
her arm. She was dressed like Annie Lennox or Marlena
Deitrich, a sexy woman in male drag. I had her
number almost immediately and introduced myself. She
thought it was hysterical that I was the only one in
the club who could see through her Victor/Victoria act
and we became fast friends. Because she had a passion
for Greek military boys, she became my advisor on how
to get one into my bed. She told me about a cafe on
Omonia square where the guards hung out when they were
off duty.
The next day, after my shift, I was there,
drinking "Heninger", the local piss watery beer, and
waiting to see who wandered in. I didn't have to wait
long. A group of Greek soldiers came in and made
themselves at home. It was obvious they hung out
there. I quickly picked out my favorite, an overgrown
lad with big soulful brown eyes, bronze skin, and lips
like a classical statue. Unlike most of the others,
he didn't smoke, and he had a more vulnerable air
about him. I was hoping to get lucky and meet a
soldier who was actually gay, and not trade. His
open, sweet natured look made me optimistic. Based on
Rwanda's advice, I figured a frontal assault was my
best bet so I just sauntered over and introduced
myself in Greek. He told me his name was Dionysus or
as he said "Theeoneeso" but I could call him Dennis.
He smiled sweetly and asked if we could go back over
to my table, that he would like to practice his
English. His friends laughed at him and patted him on
the back. I thought they knew what my story was but
it turned out they were just teasing him because he
really did want to learn English. Unlike many Greeks
he hadn't studied it in school. He was from one of the
islands and his friends teased him for being from the
boondocks. We had a few beers and chatted, me in bad
Greek, he in bad English. It was surprisingly easy to
reel him in, he accepted an invitation to go back to
my house as if he was expecting it.
We were scarcely in the door when he grabbed me
and kissed me. His tongue probed for mine, and what
he lacked in finesse, he made up for in vigor. I
hugged him to me, his chest was so broad I had trouble
getting my arms around it. He was romantically inept
and naively aggressive, altogether a charming
combination. I was sure I'd found my elusive Greek
bottom on the first try. As I undid his uniform
shirt, I stepped back to admire the view. He was
smoothly sculpted and hairless, like the older brother
of one of those overripe cherubs in a Carravaggio
painting.
He had an incredible body, naturally taut. His
skin was smooth and supple over a form that belonged
in a museum. From what I'd seen of other Greek men,
he would be pot bellied by thirty. Unlike America,
the men really worked for a living and there wasn't a
gym on every corner. He made little whimpering noises
as I feasted on his chocolate colored nipples. It was
a turn on to see how he responded to my
aggressiveness, throwing his head back and
surrendering to my attention.
"Are you going to suck my cock?" He asked
innocently, "My friends say Americans love to suck
Greek soldiers." Why not, I thought, in the interest
of good international relations. I was representing
my country after all.
I felt saliva filling my mouth as I moved down
even with his crotch. What a sight! His cock would
have been huge on a man twice his size. Erect, it
still hung long and limber down between his thighs, as
if it was too heavy to support its own weight. His
cock sock hung down over the glans like an oversized
turtle neck. There were inches of foreskin to spare.
I moved the skin back with my hand and started nipping
at it with my teeth, gently but forcefully. I
stretched it out, nearly three inches beyond his dick
snout. I nibbled and licked, this toy was more fun
than a slinky. I worked my tongue down between the
head and the hood, swirling and tasting, driving him
out of his mind. The thing throbbed to the beat of
his heart, and the throbbing was coming faster and
faster. I kept working his nipples and moved one hand
down to his balls, which looked kind of undersized
drawn up under the base of that monster shlong. I
gently pulled and kneaded them, working his load free.
He was panting and mumbling incoherently in
Greek. "Agapemou", I caught out of the stream. As
his throat stretcher worked its way toward my stomach,
I felt like I was trying to swallow some long thick
creature whole. It moved and slid in the loose skin
as if it had a life of its own. He hissed between his
teeth as I gently pinched the drawn up skin of his
nuts, then moved my hand to his ass. I popped my
sweat slick thumb through his sphincter and then all
hell broke loose.
He jammed the thing down my throat so hard he
nearly dislocated my jaw and let loose an artillery
barrage that would have downed the space shuttle.
After several tries at shoving his prick out through
my ass, he lay back panting. Creamy streams still
oozing from the lips of his foreskin. I forced my
tongue back up in there and caught whatever ammo had
misfired from his salvo. He writhed and whimpered
under my attentions, an inherently passive
participant.
I ran my hands through his close cropped hair and
he beamed at me angelically. "Now its my turn," I
said standing and moving my rampant member toward his
parted pouting lips.
He almost burst into tears. "I'm not a malakka!
How can you expect me to do that. I thought you like
me!" He sputtered in virginal indignation, honestly
hurt that I would even suggest that he was a cock
sucker. How unlike American soldiers who would throw
their legs skyward at the drop of a garrison cap, but
wouldn't kiss because it was "queer".
I was at a total loss as to how to proceed. I
was obviously mistaken about him being gay, but I was
too revved up to let him go before I had gotten my
nut, too. Compromise was in order, but what could I
do that wouldn't offend his delicate sensibilities?
Gazing down at his still hard cock, with its abundance
of foreskin, inspiration hit.
Moving my ramrod up to the tip of his, I managed
to slide about four inches of his skin up over me.
Wrapping my hands around both dicks, I was able to
create a warm tight tunnel that was every bit as hot
as (you'll pardon the expression) a moist yielding
cunt.
I fucked his cock sock like a demon. The
sensation quickly went from a substitute measure for
pounding his perky renaissance butt, to a thrill worth
repeating on it's own merits. The wet sloppy sounds
of me jerking us both off with his foreskin filled the
room. He even got into the spirit and took over.
Apparently this didn't fit into his definition of
queer. Free to concentrate on the feelings, I yielded
to his manipulation. I'm uncut myself, but I'd never
experienced anything like that smooth cocoon of his
slipping up and down over my shaft. He shocked me by
licking and biting my nipples, turning me on till I
was forced to grit my teeth to keep from cumming. It
was confusing; was only getting fucked and sucking
cock off limits to straight boys here? When he
shifted his stroking to overdrive, and moved up to
suck on my tongue, I lost it. The flood of my sperm
up into his fleshy cap filled it like a balloon till
it welled out between his fingers. The feel of his
spooge hitting my cock head shortly thereafter
propelled me into a secondary orgasm, delicious, but
definitely not what I had planned.
As I hustled him out the door, he begged me to
meet him sometime the next weekend. Later, I wondered
how I could have gotten my signals crossed like that.
I vowed to seek further advice from Rwanda. If
everyone was a top in Greece, who were they fucking?
My quest for a Greek bottom continued.
The second time out I decided that maybe I had
gone about it all wrong. Instead of some naive kid,
maybe I should just go for a pro. There are a bunch
of young Greek men who make a living off of
"escorting" tourists. They hang out in the squares
where the tourists are likely to wander by and offer
their services as "guides". While not exactly
hustlers, it is understood that the tourist will pay
for everything: meals, drinks, cabs, even a room if
necessary. I felt awkward, I had no need to pay for
it, I could have about any American serviceman or
tourist available myself. However, I figured maybe a
kamake (literally "spear fisherman" in Greek) would
understand that not all Americans were bottoms. I
asked Rwanda if she knew of any young soldiers who
worked the tourists. That's how I met Vassily.
He was physically the opposite of Dennis. Short
and compact, he had sandy blond hair like many
northern Greeks. He was hairy, with dusty blond fur
on his chest. His eyes were a deep grey, the color of
the harbor in Thessaloniki, the city he was from. He
asked me to call him Will, although it sounded like
Vill in his German accented English. His uniform fit
a bit tight, perhaps to show off his muscles. I
understood that I would be buying several rounds of
drinks and dinner before we headed back to my place,
that was how the deal worked. As long as no money
exchanged hands I could convince myself that it was
just a very formalized date. I got a chance to
practice my Greek, Vill knew his business well and
made me feel like the most interesting guy on the
planet. He was charming and funny and I began to
think that this wasn't such a bad deal. I could see
how he got into working the tourists, he was just
plain great company, and sexy as hell in his Greek
army uniform, beret and all.
When we got back to my place we were both drunk.
As Vill stripped off his uniform he saw my camera and
insisted I take pictures of him as his clothes came
off. I still have one of him in just his coat and
beret with no pants, his thick penis peeking out from
between his coat tails. He undressed me, playfully,
teasing me and reaching down to fondle my balls.
Overall, I was physically larger than he was, and he
was fascinated by the size of them. I found his fat
dong pretty interesting myself. While quite a bit
smaller than Dennis', it looked like a satisfying
mouthful. As Vill kissed me, stroking my dick to full
erection, I was convinced that this time I'd made the
right choice.
I made the first move, slurping his dick into my
mouth. I was right, a perfect fit. He laughed
delightfully and returned the favor. We went at it
like old friends, really having fun with each others
bodies. He seemed to really enjoy making me feel
good, taking my cock in long slow spirals that made
every hair on my body stand on end. I did the same to
him, paying special attention to his balls and working
my way back to his "taint". He practically pushed
his ass against my face, moaning as I worked up to a
full fledged rim job. I nibbled and gnawed at his
pink donut, getting him ready for what was to follow.
Meanwhile he was going to town on me like a
hoover stuck in overdrive. He was an accomplished
cock sucker, knowing when to use his teeth to heighten
the experience. He seemed thrilled with my foreskin
and abused it as only someone who has one of his own
would know how to do. As my hips began dancing on
their own, feeding him more of my cock, he just
chortled. "You like Vill?" He teased.
"Vill, if that's what it took to keep you blowing
me, right now I'd fucking marry you." I replied and
began tongue-fucking his hole.
"Vat are you doing!" he gasped. I felt his
sphincter flutter around my tongue. I pulled his
furry buns apart and ran my hands over them. They were
the perfect size, a palmful. As he began to moan and
twist, I kissed and ate that much harder. Every so
often I'd ease off and take both his egg sized balls
in my mouth, swirling them with my tongue. Everything
about him was an easy size, like those snack package
candy bars.fun size.
His oral expertise was getting to me as well. I
moved my hand to the back of his head, his short hair
was thick against my palm as I guided his movements.
I wanted him to slow down and make it last. I wanted
him to speed up and release me from the perfect agony.
I felt myself creep closer and closer to release.
About that time, I slid my middle finger up his
butt, slow and easy, all the way to the knuckle. I
figured I'd pull my dick out of his mouth and finish
up with a rollicking fuck. At almost the same moment
his finger entered me and found my prostate. As I
moved my finger in and out, I felt him go stiff
against me. We both hit the jackpot at the same
moment. That rare sexual moment, a photo finish, both
of us across the finish line nose to nose. I put my
mouth over his rod and gulped down his cum as he did
the same to me. Not bad for an appetizer.
I let him to continue to work on me lazily, as I
did him. My cock got stiff again in anticipation of
opening up that compact bubble butt. I pulled away
and my cock popped out of his mouth. "Vere are you
going?" he asked.
"I want to fuck you," I replied, raising his
legs. He bolted off the bed and began picking up his
clothes.
He gave me a look of pure betrayal. "Just
because I am kamakes, doesn't mean I am omofilos
(gay)! I thought you understood! I thought you
veren't like other Americans. Just because I am small
they think I am malakka."
"Oh, Villy, calm down. I was only joking," I lied.
He looked at me suspiciously. "I'm sorry if I hurt
your feelings. I was playing a game. I didn't think
I would fool you." I put my arm around him and played
with the fur on his chest. He laughed a little forced
laugh, but he relaxed against me and began playing
gently with my balls.
While I was glad he hadn't run out, I was more
confused than ever. I mean, I had a good time with
him, but I wasn't any closer to finding a Greek man
who would admit to being gay, much less a bottom.
Compared to Greek men, the most closeted American
military boys were downright well adjusted. Still, he
was a sweet kid, and other than his insistence on
being straight, a blast in bed. In the morning I
would have to have another talk with Rwanda. For the
moment, there was round two to attend to.
Well, if you can't win, then surrender. I
decided to go to one of Athens's "gay" bars. There
were plenty of straight Greek men (tops) who went
there to meet gay men (read bottoms). I'd just pick
out a "gay" man who wasn't too obnoxiously effeminate
and log some stop and goes on his ass.
Yorgo was the name Greek men used to call each
other when they were just goofing around. It means
George, but they use it the way an American cab driver
uses "Mack" or "Joe", just a generic guy name. Lots
of Greeks are actually named Yorgo though, but the man
I met that night wasn't your average Joe.
He was lounging against the bar, and to me he
stood out like beacon. Tall for an American, he was a
giant for a Greek. He looked like the cartoon of Mr.
Clean on the television, huge, muscular, and sculpted,
with piercing blue eyes, a shaved head, and one
earring. The only differences were his thick black
mustache and eyebrows, and a very liberal coating of
black body hair. My mouth watered, he was prime daddy
beef, on the hoof. Adding to the picture, he was
wearing a Greek Navy Seal Team tee shirt and dog tags.
He saw me looking and putting his cigar down on the
bar gave me a challenging stare that melted the
elastic in my underwear. Maybe I could put my plans
to play top on hold for just one more night.
He lumbered over to me and put an arm around my
shoulder. "I am Yorgo. You are American Army boy."
He announced. I knew right away he wasn't going to be
much of a conversationalist.
"Air Force Man." I corrected in Greek. He
laughed and was already allowing his hands to roam
over my chest. He had his own way of crossing the
language barrier. He took my hand and put it down on
his thigh so I could feel the bulge growing there. I
nearly panicked and ran, as my hand moved down toward
his knee, the thick tube in his jeans showed no sign
of ending.
"You like it." He murmured to me in a deep
growl.
"Yeah, sure.I guess so." He was so hot, such a
god, maybe I could figure out something to do with it.
"I want you." He kissed me and moved his hands
all over me. I've been frisked by cops who weren't as
thorough. He was very strong and I knew that if we
had a misunderstanding about who was doing what to
whom things might get rough. Somehow the risk was
even more of a turn-on. "We will go to my house,
now," he stated and pulled me by the hand behind him
as we headed for the street. He seemed to take my
surrender for granted, but kept a hold of me as if he
was afraid I was going to bolt at the last minute. We
passed Rwanda on the way out and she just rolled her
eyes at me.
We necked like high school kids in the cab on the
way to his flat and my pants were practically soaked
with dick lube. The cab driver nearly crashed several
times watching us in the rearview mirror, but he never
said a word. Yorgo kissed me passionately as we
entered his bedroom, he practically smoldered with
Mediterranean heat.
"Take it out." he insisted. I pulled down his
black jeans and set his beast free. God, what a beast
it was. It stood up rock hard and massively erect,
with a thick veined foreskin that retracted just
enough for the piss slit to peek out. It was a jaw
wrecker. "Suck it." he breathed. Overcome as I was
with desire to let this stud dominate me, I had my
work cut out for me. I pulled out all the stops and
finally got it down my throat. He smiled at me
fiercely, and holding the back of my head, fucked my
gullet with long slow strokes. It was a damn snug
fit, but he was in no hurry, letting me catch my
breath, being careful not to gag me.
I was so turned of by the picture of myself on my
knees worshipping this monster that my cock hurt in my
pants. I freed myself of my clothes as he used my
face as his pussy, he scarcely seemed to notice.
"Good," he assured me as I felt the beast twitch
and shift in my throat, I felt like one of the victims
of the face hugger in the movie "Alien". He stroked
my hair and played with my tits, gently, forcibly.
"Good," he hissed again, pulling his monster out of my
mouth and feeding the whole thing back in slowly,
several times. I hoped I'd be able to talk the next
day. "You like it." He announced and picked up his
pace, still slow but more forceful. His pubic bone
meeting my lips on every swing. I was on my knees for
what seemed like hours, letting my hands explore his
furry ass, and work his big protruding nipples in
among his chest hair. When I did that he would exhale
again in a sultry hiss, "Yes.Good." He was a man of
few words but he got his point across.
I was so into the cock pig thing that I was
getting real close to cumming myself, right on the
edge. I tried to slow down so I could get there,
humping his furry leg for the extra friction to put me
over. Suddenly he grabbed my head and hugged it to
his crotch tightly, his beast shoved all the way in me
face to the root. I felt it grow impossibly and
thought it might burst out of me as it pulsed. I
could feel the wads of spooge force their way down the
length of his prick and into my gut. I thought I was
going to cum right then, but at the last minute he
pulled out and smacked my face with it, dripping the
last of his cock snot on my face and chest. The damn
thing was still hard as a rock and I hadn't even cum
yet!
He stared down at me, fire in his eyes, and
started to force the thing back between my lips. "You
want it." He assured me and started fucking my face
again. God, he was a human cock, his incredible body
dwindling in my mind as I found it impossible to focus
on anything but the feeling of that monster stretching
my esophagus. I was so turned on I was ready to fuck
the carpet, but at the same time it was exhausting,
he was just too damn big. His stamina would have put
a true bottom in heaven, and while I had never been so
into playing pig boy, I was beginning to want my turn
at bat. I raped his body with my hands, leaving marks
and friction burns, fighting my way toward his second
orgasm. I used my teeth on his rod and was rewarded
with another gasped, "Good." After another eternity
of delicious frustration he again hugged my head to
his body, so hard my nose was flattened into his pubes
and fired again, thick slow burst that flowed like
honey down my throat.
He stroked my hair and smiled at me, as he reeled
his cock out of my jaws and ran it over my face. It
was still so hard it throbbed! Mine was too, but
because I hadn't gotten off. He smiled and grabbed my
head again, ready for round three. Something in me
snapped. He was one of the hottest men I'd ever met,
but enough was enough. Someone in Greece was going to
learn what reciprocation meant, and I was ready to
teach a couple of lessons right then.
I shoved him back on the bed and without a pause
grabbed his ankles and spun him over face down. I
expected some resistance, but there was none, no
cooperation either. I pulled him up into the doggy
position and he stayed there while I drooled spit in
his butt crack. I'd have preferred real lube, but my
father always said if it ain't spit it ain't love. I
lined up my hungry rod and pierced him like an arrow.
He spread like butter, hot, slick, and delicious. I
fucked him like a demon, using his lean hard cheeks as
handles.
I don't think there's anything that gets my motor
going like topping a top. I was plowing the ultimate
daddy, and he grunted and whined like a school girl.
I reached under him and felt his beast, to my surprise
it was running like a faucet. I grabbed fistfuls of
his chest hair and pulled him down on my shaft. The
great thing about fucking a daddy stud like Yorgo is
that no matter how rough you give it to him, you know
he isn't going to break. I got him in a headlock, my
arm up under his chest and around the back of his
neck. I was in the home stretch, fucking not just
him, but in my mind, Villy and Dennis as well.
Slamming up into him so hard, as if I could shoot my
load into his soul, I came and came. I coasted
through one orgasm and into two more secondary shocks,
like little petit mal seizures. He shrieked and
launched cum up all over his own chest and for the
first time that evening his cock went soft, hanging
down fat and pendulous like an obscene elephant's
trunk. That was enough to coax five or six more
spurts out of me.
I collapsed on top of him, across his broad back.
Eventually he rolled over and encircled me in his
arms. "That was awesome," I sighed. I'd finally
found a Greek bottom where I'd least expected it.
"You suck good." He said, again, the alpha male.
"You must come back. I will fuck you again.
Americans love to be fucked." He held me against his
thick chest.
"I know at least one Greek who loves to be
fucked." I teased, tweaking his nipple.
He ignored me, "American men, they all want a
Greek dick up their butt. They are all malakkas.
That is why they come to Greece, to be poustee. He
ruffled my hair, "You are okay -- for a poustee."
Then, the light finally came on. How could all
Greek men be tops? Who were they fucking if there
were no bottoms? Each other, of course, but if
everyone but the most effeminate were in denial and
nobody admitted anything, then nobodies precious
masculinity was damaged. It was so blindingly simple
that there was no wonder I'd missed it.
When I told Rwanda about my revelation the next
day she laughed till she nearly choked. "Darling,"
she said, "You are some piece of work. That's
something drag queens have known about straight boys
forever. Do you want to hit the bars again tonight?"
"No, I think I'm going to be busy. I have to
give Dennis a call."